Only those who stay Dead shall remember Death.

when i visited my high school on thursday, i saw this one teacher, my favorite teacher, he asked, “how are you feeling?”

I took a breath, smiled, nodded—“Better,” I said. “I’m a lot less sad.”

It was a lie and a truth at the same time. For while I had managed to be far more functional—look, I came out of my first semester with a 3.43 gpa, A’s & B’s—but those last few weeks, I was overcome with something.

I spent a lot of mornings oversleeping. I skipped my morning class a lot even though it was my favorite class, even though I had all my work prepared and everything.

at night, I would cry a lot. my roommate would be asleep and i’d tiptoe out of the room to wherever seemed safe, the bathrooms, the laundry rooms, anyplace where it was okay to be in emotional crisis. I didn’t want to talk about it, I had to force myself to be happy when it felt really hard. I  got scared all the time that I would get really bad. In high school, I was so depressed it was debilitating. I could barely pass a class. I was a lost cause.

and I remember that as one of my low points. I had so many lows. 

and when I was at school, I went to class and pull all-nighters on bullshit projects but I couldn’t write anything. I didn’t do anything that I really liked just because I liked it. I stopped reading, I stopped writing, I could only manage to watch movies or shows.

I joked today about how watching things feels like fake research, and in a way it is, but also, I miss regular writing. 

i’m just a really sad girl who tells stories, you know? that’s my autobio.

I’m having one of those moments where I feel really sad. At least I know why I’m sad, and so I am embracing this sadness. This is a roll on the floor and moan kind of sadness. This is what it feels to feel empty, to feel like there is nothing that you bring forth into the world of value. This is the sadness where you drink your tea and smile when it burns your tongue. I’ve missed this. 

I tried freewriting today just to see what I would come up with and right now I have 300 words about a girl named Frances and a handsome unnamed guy in a suit and her cookies are going to burn.

in other words, this is awful

antsareinthesugar:

I’m gonna go ahead and sign my name on the waiting list for God to put me as a lesbian in the next life.

the other day, my mother and I had a civil conversation about my sexuality. she did say several ignorant things. that i shouldn’t follow the “trend” of thinking it is “okay” to be gay, that this is a “phase” because after all, “most lesbians start dressing like guys” (and I tried to explain that girls can like girls and be feminine) and that, you know, I should try to be as normal as possible, because don’t i want an easy life? don’t i want a family.

i shrugged.

“you would be a good mother,” she said. 

and you know, i think about that. I am as maternal as they come, and kids delight and adore me, and I would be a good mother. and I was so glad to hear that Madre thinks so, too. I like the setup of the traditional family fantasy, but I struggle to really see it fitting. I struggle to think of most things “normal” people look forward to working out for me, like old age and stereotypical success. my map of the future is something like, live in a really special house that caters to my creativity, fall in love with a  beautiful girl, write amazing things, publish something, create things that people talk about. travel somewhere, meet new people, watch my best friends reach all the milestones, write some more. I would like to feel security and know success and know love. ultimately, after a few years of this, i imagine i’ll die young. have posthumous fame, maybe, and that’s all. i’d be really content with that. 

so yes, i have names picked out already for my future daughters. but i don’t think they’ll ever be real. i just don’t know where they’d fit. 

“Why don’t you major in English?”

and then I had to explain that while I love literature, and I like analyzing it, and I’m so good at that—I have never been able to really focus on writing. I have lost the opportunity to better myself in a group setting, in a structure that I didn’t have to pave out myself. I tried to explain this. 

Talking about my future made me feel small, in a way. I have this shifty little plan but it’s all my own and I have to be faithful to it. And I get that question a lot. Why a writing major, why not just English. People seem to think they are the same, which is odd to me. I sat there, sitting across from one of my former teachers and wondering how well could I really explain. 

I explained also, the difference between writing for screen and writing fiction, which is something most people also fail to grasp the differences between. 

and sitting there, being interrogated about why my stories mattered, what I wanted to say, what meaning I wanted to give, I felt like a writer again. You should hear me when I get like that. I sit straight and I take even breaths and I speak clearly because I know what I’m talking about. And that’s just not often enough. 

I’ve missed feeling like a writer. Lately I’ve felt like a fraud, hardly news.

(now that I think about it, it’s plausible that olivia’s dad may have very well WATCHED that sex tape. I’m cringing.)

Yessssss. You finished! That’s awesome.

I wanna hear your opinions!

i have to be up in five hours. maybe four and a half. 

also, i finished scandal!!

• very excited about tomorrow. 
• i like jake. why do fans hate him? i mean, yeah, I like Olitz, but tell me that sometimes their dialogue doesn’t sound like a bad fanfiction. In fact, their lust disguised as love is one of my pet peeves in writing tropes that are run into the ground time after time and generally messy and awful despite being guilty pleasures
• I WANT CYRUS AND JAMES TO CONTINUE HAVING A GOOD RELATIONSHIP. please let cyrus just be good to his husband and stop making him sad. they are my favorite couple.
•  the 7:52 episode made me cry. it was so brilliant, what good monologues, and just…all that pain. Huck is precious.
• Huck and Quinn make me happy.
• also! I like Charlie! I even think he’s kind of cute. I really need him to not die, and to stick around. 
• also, fuck David. so done with his shit. 
• i feel kinda bad for Mellie.

stuff I need in my makeup kit:

• lip liner
• colored eyeliner—I have my eye on this really great blue from sephora
• eyebrow stencils
• eyeshadow in neutral colors—I’ve realized that I can essentially turn myself into a barbie with a little peach and gold, and to know me is to know I adore looking like a doll
• more lipstick, new shades: purples and deeper reds, a really solid black, maybe something wild like a royal blue, but that will be a search.
• blush! i’ve decided that I can make use of blush, perhaps
• foundation? maybe? i like eyebrows and big eyes and full lips, but i’ve always felt nervous about pasting something over my skin, and the difficulty in even matching complexion, but maybe…
• I need eyeshadow in all kinds of radiant colors—shimmering emeralds and blood reds, and I need to learn blending techniques, new ways to make it work, it’d be fantastic. I’d do so much. 

I don’t need makeup to feel pretty. But let me tell you, dressing up is fucking fun and I love it.